A/N: Apologies for the update time – my laptop was out of action. This marks the tenth installment of Just Causes. I'd love to say that I didn't think this fic would last this long, but I'd be lying. I'm glad that I've reached this point, and I'm glad that I still have enough drive to keep going for the rest of this ride. I'm finally going to say something about review numbers: they're low. DeLyse seems to be the only person besides me and Fabs who cares whether or not I continue this story. Those of you who just haven't bothered reviewing, please consider that a nudge. I hate long A/N's as much as you people, so I'm done talking now.
Vichada, Colombia
May 24th, 1999 – Eight years ago
1300 hrs Local Time
Felix bit onto one of his gloves and pulled it off, the glaring midday sun made the sweat glisten on his bare hand. The pasture lay several yards beyond a patch of Colombia's dense forestry, and beyond it, presumably, lay his destination. He dragged his dirty fingers through the waist-high grass; his heart leapt into his arid throat as each blade slipped past. The long, thin object Felix's digits brushed against was one of two things. He pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger and moved it back and forth in miniscule amounts.
The field of grass twitched along its length.
Shit. Tripwire.
He reached behind him and pulled a pair of wire cutters from his canvas buttpack. Felix pushed the cutters right up against the side of his fingers and slid the jaws shut. The tension on the line released, and so did his breath. He lifted himself on his elbows and peered through the top of the grassy field. Around ten meters to his left, he saw the first huts. A skinny man with an AK-47 paced back and forth in front of a low stone wall. Felix clicked his radio twice. Contact.
One click came back to him. Copy.
Felix slid his MP5 forward and lifted it to his shoulder. He parted the grass with the barrel just enough to watch the sentry through the hooded front sight. His ungloved thumb clicked the safety off. The sentry sat down on the wall and spewed a rapid string of Spanish into a brick-like radio.
Five clicks on the radio. Weapons free.
He clicked. Copy. The suppressor on his MP5 reduced the report of the bullet to almost nothing, the sound of the bolt louder than the three-round burst itself. The sentry's head exploded in a pink mist. Felix held his breath. If shit's gonna go down, now's the time.
Nothing.
Birds chirped.
Felix crawled through the field of grass until he could see the blood trickling out of the shattered skull. He seized the sentry's foot and dragged him back into the foliage before sliding over the low wall and crouching behind a ramshackle hut. He slid along the wall and peeked out, squinting hard in the glare. Six or seven men sat around a barbecue pit in lawn chairs, drinking liquor from jugs and laughing loudly. Behind them, cows mooed inside a large, decrepit barn.
Felix slipped around the corner of the building and placed his ear against a wooden door. Inside, he could hear strains of flamenco guitar and soft Spanish singing. He pushed the door open just enough to peer through the crack. Rows of bunks lined the walls. A beat-up turntable sat on one of the footlockers. Felix pushed the door the rest of the way open and pulled out his knife. The floorboards creaked, and he shifted his weight to silence them.
Someone grunted behind another door, and Felix's blood froze. He crept to the doorway and put his camouflaged face to the hole where the knob should have been. Inside the small room – bathroom – a man sat on the toilet, his eyes focused on the magazine he held in one hand. In the other hand, presumably, rested a little goatfucking dick.
Felix grinned. Bastard's crankin' one off.
The man zipped up his fly and moved to the sink.
His grin widened as he realized that he stood in front of the only exit. He could either sneak back into the barracks, or take the fucker.
As the man turned to leave the bathroom, Felix found his choice easy.
He stood and pressed his back to the wall, his knife at the ready. The man opened the door and stepped out. Felix grabbed him around the neck and dragged the rebel back into the bathroom, a razor-edged combat knife pressed against his neck. "Buenos dias, chingaso." The knife tore cleanly through muscle and sinew, and Felix dumped the corpse into a dirty bathtub.
Felix slipped out of the bathroom and wiped his knife on his pants. The deathly silence inside the bunkhouse was broken only by the gentle crooning of the record player. He flipped a toggle on his radio. "Hollywood, DiMarco."
"DiMarco, Hollywood. Go."
"Got a tango with a headache and one with a boner and a cut throat."
"We compromised?"
"Negative." Felix looked over his shoulder at the bloody body in the bathroom. "Might not stay that way for long, though."
"Got a count?"
"Roger. Seven in the courtyard, dunno how many in the other barracks. First building from the West is clear, repeat, first building from West."
Felix could almost see Hollywood's picturesque smile. "Roger. Second building from the East also clear, repeat, second from East. Hollywood out."
"Over and out." Felix flipped the toggle again and sheathed his knife. He crept back out of the barracks and into the sunshine, where the sweat intensified.
He swept the muzzle of his MP5 over the area in front of him as a matter of habit before swinging around to the next building. Felix put his shoulder to the door and pushed, but the door refused to give. He took a step back and charged. The door sheared from its hinges and dumped Felix onto the wooden floor.
His heart flew into his throat.
A knot of men in dirty, faded T-shirts and jeans sat to his left, AK-47's at their feet.
Oh, shit.
The men stared at him for a long time, as though making sure Felix was alone. Slowly, a growing anger replaced the surprise in their sunburned faces.
Shells rained onto the floor as Felix held the trigger of his MP5 down, not bothering to aim at the figures only a few meters away. Red blotches appeared on their writhing bodies, and they screamed in Spanish. One managed to reach his rifle and fired a long burst into the floor as he crumpled.
Felix slammed home another magazine and worked the bolt as he raced back out the door. He fumbled with the grenade pouches on his belt, trying desperately to free one of the deadly metal spheres. The group of men seated around the fire jumped to their feet, looking around them for the source of the gunfire. The grenade hissed through the air, bounced off a rebel head, and exploded before it hit the ground.
From positions around the village, a volley of silent death streamed from hidden gun muzzles. The MP5 pressed against Felix's shoulder and tried to pull into the sky. Felix and the other Green Berets worked with a deadly precision, and the screams and yells of the rebel soldiers fell silent in a matter of seconds. He dropped the empty magazine and slid a fresh one in.
The birds chirped in the jungle.
A low, wailing moan rose up from the camp as camouflaged men converged on its center. One of the rebels lay on the floor, holding his stomach and bleeding from his mouth. Felix reached the scene first, his MP5 leveled at the wounded man. He yanked the bolt back and locked it.
"Ah, dios mio…"
Felix's attention focused on the pathetic figure on the ground before him. As he reached for the medkit on his belt, he froze. Images flashed through Felix's mind at the same speed bullets left his gun moments before.
The impromptu funeral pyre in the village; the oily smoke reached out and seized hold of his senses. Felix slapped the bolt home and pressed the muzzle of his MP5 to the man's forehead.
The little boy burnt beyond all recognition, his curled body still smoldering in the flickering firelight.
Felix's finger tightened on the trigger.
The man was pleading now, in rapid Spanish mixed with sobs.
The battered, headless woman lay against the hut; the dead child possibly hers.
Suddenly, the gun didn't rest on the head of a fellow human. Felix knelt facing a wolf, a predator - a beast that deserved to die. The man ceased to have a true face; his features became at once forgettable and indistinct. His pleading turned into unintelligible, primal whimpers.
Someone tugged on the straps of his web gear. "Felix."
Felix's vision flickered and returned to normal. The man still lay on the ground; his blood and tear-drenched features twisted in agony. "Don't waste your ammo. We've got a long way to go, yet."
"Hollywood, th-"
His sergeant looked down. "Little shit ain't worth the bullet."
Felix switched his selector to safe and turned to walk away with the rest of his squad. "I hope," he snarled over his shoulder, "you bleed to death."
Another Green Beret responded with an emphatic "fuck yeah".
The twelve men disappeared into the foliage, leaving empty shells and broken men behind.
Birds chirped in the jungle.
"Just the way I like it." The younger man ran his hands along the long, metal cylinders on the table before him. A red light in the center pulsed steadily, and the apex of a thick braid of wires extended from one end.
The older man stood against the gantry, his hands thrust into his pockets. "Higa, are you ready?"
A wicked smile spread across a face covered in blonde stubble. A pair of swirling green eyes played over the volatile sculpture, in much the same way an artist would contemplate his masterpiece. "Yeah." Higa stood and walked through the doorway, past his older companion. "Let's deliver a message, syda."
"Have you considered the possible ramifications?"
Higa sighed. "Always thinking with you, syda."
"I think, because you do not."
The younger man threw his hands in the air. "Holy Machina, save me."
"You are not taking this-"
"I'm taking it seriously, syda." Higa flashed another wicked smile. "I'm seriously glad we're gonna put ram it in their ass."
The older man slowed his stride. "You assume they will take this lying down?"
"'Course not!" Higa exclaimed. He grinned wider. "I want 'em to react." His arms made an all-encompassing gesture. "It's the least we owe the Vymmah."
The older man froze. "Vymmah, Higa? You invoke-"
"I ain't 'invoking' anything I got no right to!" He insisted. "That's our real job, remember? Or has the great Sig forgotten his roots?"
Sig narrowed his eyes. "Do not presume yourself my equal, Higa." He resumed his businesslike stride. "Of course I recall."
"Then you oughta be glad we're takin' this into our own hands!"
"Regardless of the reason," Sig continued, "I am never eager to renege on my word."
"Renege, my ass," Higa snorted. "Remember Operation: Mi'ihen? How many of who died there, syda?" He jammed his finger at the floor. "We built this airship from the scrap gathered at Mushroom Rock, remember? Named him after our heroes, the Vymmah." Higa shook his head. "Like it or not, we're the avengers here."
"I never said we were not."
"Look," Higa said. "You're smarter than me; that ain't a secret. Alls I know is that it's time we made Spira pay. Plus," he added, "if this all works, we still get our cash."
Sig thought for a moment. "Surprising foresight from you, Higa."
"I try, syda, I try." He offered a mad smile again. "Now, let's go deliver a message."
Wakka pointed at the figure on the end of the dock. The man lay on his back, a log propped up on his outstretched arms. In a rhythmic motion, he lowered it to his chest and lifted it back up. "He's workin' hard, ya?"
Lulu nodded. "He's quite determined, I'll grant him that." She turned back to Riko, who busied himself with small plastic fiends.
"The man's a machina, Lu." He sat down next to his wife. "Wedge told me all about yesterday, and we… we already watched him once, ya?"
"Yes." Lulu focused her crimson eyes on the far-off contractor. "A machina using machina to protect a Summoner and her Guardians, all in the name of more Gil." She turned to her husband. "A ball of contradictions."
"Huh?"
The lacquered nail on one slender finger pointed at the dock. "Him."
Wakka scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… can't deny that, you know? Still," he continued, "he does his job good, ya?"
"Quite." She looked back to the subject of their conversation. "Perhaps… he does it too well."
Her husband gave a grave nod. "Still, he's nice to Yuna, ya?" Wakka offered. "They're gettin' along just fine, looks like."
"Yes." Lulu did not look away. "They certainly are," she said, a measure of suspicion in her voice.
Felix dropped the log to one side and unwrapped the wet fabric from his hands. Hope Wakka doesn't need that shirt back. He stood up and stretched his arms, grunting as tight muscles became limber. On a whim, he jumped into the water to cool off. Felix flipped onto his back and kicked himself out into the shallow cove. The water felt good against his hot, sweaty skin, and he grinned. He rolled back over and swam toward the beach.
His head bumped something, and he looked up. A Blitzball floated in the water. Felix grabbed it, tossed it into the air, and lashed out with a powerful hook that sent the ball hissing toward the horizon. Not a bad shot for my second time out.
"Hey, where was that before, Brudda?"
Felix turned to regard Wakka. "Lot easier when I'm not underwater," he laughed. "Or getting my ass kicked." He walked onto the beach, his canvas shorts swinging, and slicked the water out of his eyes. "Something up?"
"Just checkin' to see if you're doin' okay. Everything's workin' right, ya?"
He flexed his forearm. Yuna's white magic did what she said it would; not that he doubted her abilities. She already healed me once before, right? "Yeah."
Wakka's expression changed to something more serious. "They want Yuna back in Luca tomorrow, Brudda."
"Speech?"
"Yeah. Somethin' about showin' the people how strong she can be, you know? Anyway, we're gonna be there for a few days."
Felix grabbed a towel from the beach. "Makes sense to me," he said, drying himself off. "When we leavin'?"
"Couple of hours yet. Lu and Yuna're packin' right now, and I'm gonna go get my stuff."
"Thanks for the warning," Felix said, ambling toward the hut where his boots waited for him. "I'll head back in a few minutes."
Felix grabbed his belt off the bed and wrapped it around his waist. His two pairs of pants lay folded on the bed as well, along with his long-sleeve tactical shirt. He threw his only actual shirt – the gray one – onto the pile along with the white splinter-fest he used for his workout. He inspected the one-sleeved shirt he wore the day before and frowned at the stains. Copious amounts of blood obscured its original color. I'll just wash it when we get back ho-
Back home. He sighed. In the span of two short weeks, including his time spent unconscious, a tent on a small island became "home". Felix looked out the open flap at the piercing blue sky and sighed again. His eyes shut for a moment, and he tried to picture himself back in Chicago. The image of his apartment came to him blurred and cloudy, like a reflection in a steamed-up mirror. He couldn't picture Tracy well, either – try as he might, something always seemed off: the nose wasn't the right shape, or her dimples didn't look the same, or some other little detail just significant enough ruined Felix's recognition of his ex-wife. Not that he minded all that much.
What did bother Felix was the lack of any real explanation for his appearance in Spira. Yes, there was the buzzard of death. Yes, it attacked the compound in Brazil. No, he couldn't find a reason why a giant bird and its little demonic spawn saw fit to pick him up and drop his ass in the middle of another world. Felix sighed again, balled up the filthy shirt in his hands, and hurled it across the tent. Why am I here?
Another image sprang up in his mind, this time of Yuna. He sighed again. If I hadn't been here, she'd be dead for sure. Wakka too, and Lulu, and their kid. Is that why? Felix shook his head. No. No way in hell that bird knew what it was doing. Just a freak coincidence.
Oh? Then why did you show up in Spira?
No use dwelling on it. He looked out the flap again. Despite all its peculiarities and contradictions, there were worse places to be than Spira. A small smile lifted the corners of Felix's mouth. Plus, dangerous places are always profitable.
Is that why I feel at home here? Felix stuffed his pants into the bag. Combat defined the past eleven years of his life, whether in the service of his country or the almighty dollar. As a rule, the more dangerous the locale, the higher the pay. His contract in Spira continued that tradition; her jungles and cities seemed to serve as veritable nesting places for people with itchy trigger fingers, and that fact translated into three thousand Gil a week. Felix knew responsibility for each attempt on Yuna's life rested with the same group of men. She knows it too, but she doesn't want to admit it. He recalled one of their earlier conversations. Didn't Yuna say she's half Al-Bhed? Felix shook his head. She'll have to face it eventually, and I'm not sure she'll be able to handle it when she does.
He lifted his bulletproof vest off the floor, thought for a moment, then stepped out of his tent. "Yuna!"
"Yes?" Yuna stuck her head out of the adjacent tent. She was back in her trademark halter, and in all probability, her purple skirt. Can't fault the girl for being consistent.
He tossed her the vest. "Try that on."
She held it at arms length. "Why are-"
"Just humor me, okay?"
Yuna didn't have to open the velcro closures; the vest was wide enough for her to slip over her head and shoulders. It lolled about on her slight frame, and Felix chuckled. She looks like a little kid playing dress-up. "Nevermind, I guess."
She took it off and threw it back to Felix. "What was that for?"
"I wanted to see if that fit you," he said.
"Well, it didn't!" Yuna laughed. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, actually. How long we gonna be in Luca?"
Yuna thought for a moment. "Four days, I think."
Felix looked back at his meager pile of clothing. "Grab another pair of pants from Wakka for me, will you?"
A ball of white denim whistled through the air and smacked Felix solidly upside the head. "Hey, what the fu-"
Someone laughed in the village. "Nice catch, Brudda!" Wakka stood at the mouth of the tent across from Felix, his hands on his hips. He nodded at the pants. "Those're the pants I wore to my bachelor party, Brudda."
Felix cocked an eyebrow, looked at the pants, and feigned surprise. "Oh, so that's where this stain came from." Wakka turned red, and Felix laughed. "Kidding. Thanks."
"Don't mention it, Brudda."
"Wilco."
"No, seriously, don't mention it to Lulu." He looked over his shoulder at his wife and son on the steps of the temple, out of earshot. "She doesn't know I had one yet, Brudda."
Felix chuckled. "Got it." He tossed the pants onto his bed, thought for a moment, and called to Wakka again. "Hey, how much does a pair of pants usually cost in Spira?"
"Hundred and fifty Gil. Why?"
He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and took out a handful of coins. Two hundred, three hundred, four-fifty. Felix dropped the coins into the small bag Yuna gave him earlier and threw it to Wakka. "Three pairs, right?"
"Brudda, you don't-"
"Take it," Felix said. "I'm workin', I can afford to pay you."
Wakka shrugged. "Your Gil," he muttered as he walked back into his tent.
Felix cinched his boots tight and searched his room for a bag of some kind. Jars, cans, sake… hey, sake! He grinned, reopened the forgotten bottle, and took a swig. More jars, sheets, knickknacks, Jesus these people like jars… "There you are," he said, grabbing a leather sack out of the large trunk in one corner. Into it, he stuffed the items on the bed. There was one last thing he needed before leaving, and there was no way in hell it would stay home. Felix pulled his cleaned pistol from under his pillow, dropped it into his holster, slung his makeshift luggage on his back, and left his tent.
Lulu and Wakka were already waiting for him. "Are you packed?"
Felix jiggled his bag and looked around. "Where's Yuna at?"
"In here!" Yuna yelled from her tent. She stumbled out, still fumbling with her long earring. "Sorry!"
"Take your time," Lulu said. "There's no great rush to leave." The black mage stepped forward to help her friend. "Here," she said, "hold still."
Felix turned to Wakka, who shrugged. "She's a little slow to get ready, Brudda."
"I can see," Felix chuckled. He scratched at the two days of stubble on his chin. I'll just shave on the Liki.
Yuna straightened her halter and flushed. "Are we all ready?"
"Yeah."
"Yes."
"Let's go," Wakka said, hefting his and Lulu's bags.
He dropped his bag in his old cabin. It looked the same as when he left it, for the most part, save for being cleaner. Felix snapped his belt off and tossed it onto the floor, but stuffed the pistol into the back of his pants. He pushed the door open and stepped into the bathroom.
Felix left the small room a few minutes later, the whiskers on his face trimmed into his usual soul patch configuration. His head retained the essences of hair beginning to peek out – since he arrived in Spira, the only people with bald heads he saw either shot at him or glared at him from under elaborate headdresses. I oughta make at least a half-assed attempt at blending in. A wry smile crossed his face. As if the pistol, smokes, and ink didn't tip my hand already.
He heard a soft knocking at his door. "It's Lulu."
"Come in."
The black mage closed the door behind her and walked over to Felix's bed. She sat down on the edge and studied him for a moment. "How are you getting along with Yuna?" Lulu asked.
Felix shrugged. "Nice girl. Don't have any complaints 'bout her." He pulled open his bag and began unpacking.
"You two get along well, then?"
He tossed his battered shirt over the chair in the corner. "Yeah. No issues I know of." Felix paused. Wait… "Why?"
She crossed her arms across her ample breasts. "I'm going to say this once: arm's length." Lulu's crimson eyes darkened. "I expect nothing other than professional conduct from you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Felix didn't break eye contact. Round two, huh? "Where's this coming from?"
"Concern for a friend. I don't want her getting too close to you."
He grinned. "Worried I might corrupt her?"
Lulu didn't seem amused. "You are dangerous," she said, her voice low. "I don't want you-"
"Listen," Felix snapped. He already had just about enough of Lulu, and a blatant implication of inappropriate conduct went way over the line. "You ain't payin' me shit, so I don't give a flying fuckwhat you want. Here's what I'll tell you: I get along just fine with Yuna. I get along just fine with Wakka, too." He shook his head. "If there's something I don't have a problem with, it's staying objective."
She sat back. "It seems we have an understanding, then."
"Sure." Felix pointed at the door. "Now go get your panties in a knot somewhere else."
The door clicked shut, and Felix wondered why he became so defensive toward Lulu's accusations. It's just your nature, he assured himself.He unfolded and refolded his green tactical pants.
Is that all?
Felix adjusted the placement of his sunglasses. Behind the smoky lenses and the haze from his cigarette, he surveyed the crowded stadium. The Blitzball arena looked to be filled well past capacity – even the stairs, converted to serve as standing-room-only space, were a sea of colorful clothing and bobbing heads. He blew a puff of smoke toward the ceiling and shifted the positioning of his shoulders against the carved stone wall. Yuna, Wakka, and Lulu stood in front of him at the railing of the raised dais, positioned high on the stadium's eastern side. The crowd seemed overjoyed to see their Summoner in one piece.
He hated crowds.
He snugged his vest down tighter and sighed. Spira seemed to enjoy emulating Iraq when it came to weather. Felix couldn't recall a day yet that didn't make him break out in sweat just standing still. No wonder these people like the water so much.
Yuna stepped forward to a podium at the forefront of the dais, and the dull roar of the crowd reached a frenzied pitch. She raised a hand, and the masses fell silent. "One day ago," she began, "a group of armed men attempted to interrupt a Sending."
A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Sixteen people, including eleven innocent bystanders, were injured in the attack. Twelve of them, including five gunmen, died."
Another murmur.
"It has become clear to me that those responsible for the attacks against Spira and Spirans will not be satisfied with taking one life – my life – but instead desire only to shed as much blood as possible." Yuna paused. "It is my firm belief that they will discover just how strong we can be when we stand together." She paused again. "Together," Yuna repeated. "Again, I must urge you not to respond to violence with violence, or to hate with hate."
The audience fell completely silent.
"Cycles of bloodshed, in the end, only consume those involved. Evil will always beget evil – that truth cannot be ignored. We cannot expect that responding to those who would do us harm with anger and hatred can change anything." She waved her arms in an all-encompassing gesture. "We have been through pain before, we have seen death face-to-face, and we emerged stronger than ever. I ask you: do not be fearful. Rather, join hands with your neighbors, and tighten the bonds between us that we hold so dear." Yuna bowed her head to her chest, and the audience broke into frenzied applause.
"Damn," Felix said, "you really nailed that one."
She flushed. "I hope so," Yuna said. "I'd hate to disappoint the people."
Lulu put a hand on Yuna's shoulder. "There's no way you disappointed anyone."
Wakka nodded. "Yeah! You got everyone really psyched, you know?"
"Hey," Felix said, looking over his shoulder. "We oughta bail before the exits get too crowded."
As they climbed down the wide staircase, Lulu tapped Felix on the shoulder. "Where did you get those pants?"
Wakka gave him a meaningful look. "Bought 'em," Felix said.
"Oh?" Lulu looked back at her husband. "Wakka, I think that color would look good on you. You should buy a pair."
Felix looked around the familiar rotunda. The little drink stand still stood in the center, complete with a fresh coat of paint and a new, blonde clerk. On a hunch, he strayed off to one side and studied one of the pillars framing the entryway. A pair of holes overlooked by the repair crew stared back at him from the corner, and Felix cracked a smile as he ran his fingers over the craters. Just more proof that I ain't crazy.
"Hey, Brudda!" Wakka waved his hand in the air. "Come see this!"
He looked past Wakka, and Felix's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. At the bottom of the stadium, Rikku stood, bouncing from one leg to the other. Her long braids swung side to side, and she had her perpetual grin plastered on her little face.
Of all the-
"Heya, Yunie!" Rikku chirped.
Yuna dashed across the rotunda and embraced the Al-Bhed girl. Felix and Wakka followed, the former with a hand close to his pistol, the latter beside his wife. Wakka smiled. "Hey, Rikku! He's workin' again, ya?"
Rikku's grin widened, something Felix didn't think possible. "Yup!" She spun and pointed at something in the sky. "Brought him all the way from Home to show you guys!"
Felix squinted, gaped, squinted again, and nearly lost his cigarette. "What… what the fuck is that thing?"
A massive gold, purple, and white hull of some sort hovered above the stadium; propellers tipped with tufts of feathers spun on either side of its hull in lazy circles. Other tufts hung from the airship's long nose. At its stern, a gigantic wheel turned in a golden frame. The entire assembly looked like the result of a threesome between a Victorian-era cruise liner, a rabid ostrich, and the NASA space shuttle. Felix found himself again questioning his sanity as he acknowledged the fact that, yes, that thing was actually flying.
Not flying, he corrected himself. Hovering. Hovering over a stadium that creates a huge ball of water from nothing, in a country that uses giant chickens to power their boats, in a world that should not exist. Felix shook his head and sighed. Goddammit, I would just love for something normal to happen around here.
Rikku bounced closer. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Not the words I'd use."
"What are the words you'd use?"
Yuna put a hand on Felix's shoulder before he could employ his colorful vocabulary in an effort to translate his bewilderment into words. "I know this might be a little weird, Felix, but-"
"A little?" Felix turned to Yuna and laughed. "Belt dresses are a little weird. Jamaican accents are a little weird. Giant hunks of feathery metal floating in the sky are more than a little weird."
Rikku raised an eyebrow. "It's just an airship! Ain'tcha ever seen one before?"
"No!"
The Al-Bhed girl's grin turned from innocent to wry. "They really shelter you Spirans like that still?"
"Rikku," Yuna said, "Felix… isn't from Spira."
The young girl's smirk dropped immediately. She looked with wide eyes from Felix to Yuna and back again. "So he m-"
Yuna cut her off with a swift, uncharacteristically terse response. "No."
Rikku flinched. "Oh, I…"
One of the most awkward silences Felix ever experienced settled over the quintet.
"So, Rikku," Wakka said, "you stayin' in Luca?"
Rikku shook her head, her long braids swung back and forth. Her grin returned, but her swirling eyes told a different story to a contractor used to reading people. "Sorry! Me and Brother gotta be back soon, but I just wanted to stop by and say hi." She skipped off into the stadium.
You did. You also raised another question I want answered. He narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. Something's very off with you, Rikku.
Lulu coughed. "Yuna, you should go say hello to the Aurochs. They're still here, even thought the tournament was canceled."
Wakka slapped his forehead. "Man! I thought Jassu took 'em back home!" He looked to the locker room. "Hey, Felix, you oughta come see the locker room. We remodeled it, you know?"
The crowded rotunda made getting anywhere hell, but Yuna's status and Felix's imposing presence cleared a wide enough path for the four to slip through. A large group of children cut through their group, and Felix lost sight of Yuna and Lulu. He could still follow the path of Wakka's unmistakable hair through the crowd, though, so he pushed on in the islander's general direction. His foray didn't last very long, as another distraction – a woman in a black thong and canvas chaps – demanded Felix's undivided attention.
His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Felix turned again to look for Wakka. A soft noise, just audible over the dull roar inside the dome, hijacked his attention. He paused and strained his ears, trying to make it out. The sound reached him after a moment:
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
He turned around, the firm prodding in the back of his head telling him that something did not belong. His eyes locked on a small wooden crate. It lacked any untoward or distinctive markings or external characteristics at all. In fact, it looked exactly like the dozens of crates he saw lining the piers outside the stadium. What bothered Felix about this crate, though, was its location.
The box rested against the large staircase that seemed to support the entire rotunda, only a few feet away from where Felix stood.
Please, Jesus, let me be wrong. Felix walked over and placed his shaking hands on the crate. He ran his fingers around the rim, trying to find a latch. He found the latch sealed with a small lock that gave easily when wedged with Felix's knife. He took a deep breath before looking inside.
He let it out.
Inside the crate sat bird's nest of straw, inside which rested a number of translucent glass bottles. Felix took a long pull off the cigarette to ward off the adrenaline screaming through his veins. Guess I'm a little on edge after the other day. He shut the crate, stood, and turned away from the box. His eyes scanned the crowd for Wakka, Lulu, or Yuna, or for a pair of assless canvas chaps.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Felix's blood turned to ice.
He tore the lid off the box this time, not bothering to unlatch it. He dug into the straw, past the row of neatly stacked green bottles. His fingers touched metal, and the prodding in the back of his head turned into a haymaker. His heart pounding in his ears, Felix brushed the straw away. A cluster of polished, metallic cylinders sparkled in the cheery Spiran sunlight. From one end extended a bundle of multicolored wires. In the center, a single red light pulsed with ominous regularity.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
He turned and sprinted away from the box, pushing confused and angry Spirans out of his path. Felix searched in the crowd for Yuna, adrenaline and anxiety heading upward in a twin skyrocket. His blood rushed past his ears, and the steady pulsing of the now-distant box echoed in his head and seemed to grow louder with every passing second.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
There! Felix saw Yuna standing next to the entrance, talking with a woman wearing a football-shaped green headdress. He didn't have time to explain. His full weight slammed into the young Summoner; the two of them tumbled down the stairs and crashed to the floor. Felix wrapped his arms around her slight body and tucked her head against his chest. Over her surprised yells of protest, he could almost hear the angel of death play the finale to his monotonous sonata.
Beep.
Beep.
Beepbeepbeepbeep-
The shockwave slammed into Felix like a semi. The deafening explosion and the ringing in his ears drowned out the inevitable screams from the crowd. The ground began to shake, steel supports groaned when they could no longer bear the weight of stone pressing down on them. He clutched Yuna tighter, desperate to keep her under his shield of kevlar and flesh.
The rumbling began to subside.
Felix released his grip and pushed himself off Yuna. The explosion, he saw, reduced almost a quarter of the rotunda to rubble. Charge wasn't big enough for the stadium.
His thoughts jumped onto another track. No. That bomb wasn't for the stadium. Felix leapt up and dashed into the ruined rotunda. How many… He began with the larger stones, hefting each one and tossing it down the stairs behind him. Many of the blocks were scorched, and he nearly dropped one on his foot when it burned his hand.
On either side of him, others who survived the blast began digging through the rubble. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey!" The man yelled. "You okay?"
"Yeah!" Felix pointed at the wreckage. "We gotta get 'em out!"
Someone else slapped his shoulder. Felix turned and found himself face-to-face with none other than Wakka. "Diesel!"
He shook his head and turned back to the rubble. "Dig!"
Wakka grabbed him again and pointed at Yuna. "Take care of her, Brudda! I'll get this!"
Felix nodded and sprinted back to the still-prostrate Yuna. She lay curled in the fetal position, her face pressed into her knees. He bent and hauled her up by the yellow floral obi around her waist. The buildings near the stadium seemed intact enough for shelter. Felix kicked in the door of one and tore his gun free. He set Yuna down behind a thick marble counter, crouched down beside her, and watched the chaos unfold outside.
The news sphere didn't hold his attention for long. Felix made it halfway through the fifth report of the bombing before he turned the volume all the way down and occupied himself with analyzing the day's events.
If I didn't hear that noise…
A soft knocking came to him through the door. Felix clicked the news sphere off and pulled on the complimentary pair of pajama pants. "C'mon in."
Yuna shut the door behind her as she walked over to the bed. She sat down on the foot of it, her hands clasped in her lap. Her hair was damp. "How… how are you?"
He offered a smile. "In one piece." His smile subsided. "Yuna, you really need your rest."
She looked down at her shaking hands. "I needed to thank you first."
Felix chuckled. "I think I already told you about that."
Yuna looked up at him. "I… I got the report from the Crusaders. Fifty-three people died in the explosion, Felix."
He let out a soft whistle and feigned surprise. "Damn."
"They don't know how the bomb got in."
They never do. "They'll find out, Yuna."
"Wedge-" Yuna's voice cracked. "Wedge said that this was the same men from before."
"Maybe." Felix adjusted his position on the bed and scratched his chin. "Don't do it."
Yuna looked hurt. "Do what?"
"Blame yourself for what happened."
She looked at her hands again. "They were after me, and fifty-three people paid my-"
Felix sat bolt upright. "Stop it," he ordered, pointing at the open window. "It's a big world out there, Yuna. Fact is, you can't control who lives or who dies. It's a fact of life, Yuna – brutal, yeah, but fact. The sooner you realize it," he added, "the sooner you'll stop blaming yourself for things you can't control."
The hurt look intensified. "But I-"
"But nothing," he corrected her. "Yuna, there's nothing you could've done. If you'd stayed in the building, the only difference is that fifty four people would have died." His voice softened, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "Yuna, you can't try and control everything."
Tears began to form in her green and blue eyes, and Felix felt that he might have been a little harsh. Yuna wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I just can't believe it really happened."
Felix nodded. Shock, DiMarco. The girl is in shock.
Her voice cracked. "And when I think about if we stayed a minute longer-" The trickle of tears turned into a river as Yuna buried her head in her hands. Felix pulled a blanket from the corner of his bed and draped it over her. "Oh, Fayth, all those people!"
She reached up, grabbed his hand, and pulled herself against Felix. Yuna curled up against his side, and her vise-like grip on Felix's hand didn't lessen. He could feel Yuna's whole body shake. He wrapped his arm around her for support as he lay back onto his bed. As Yuna's tears dampened his chest and the feeling in his left hand faded, Felix DiMarco wondered just how objective he really was.
A/N: I warned you, didn't I? See you all next update!
EDIT: Jesus, the site ate all my line breaks. I really apologize for that! I'm editing them all back in... argh.